


three words have never come easy

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Anchors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Failure, Curse Breaking, Curses, Darkness Around The Heart, M/M, Misunderstandings, Morning After, One Night Stands, Pining, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: If someone had told Derek five years ago that Stiles Stilinski would be the one living in a secluded cabin in the woods, Derek never would have believed them. Even now, he had a hard time reconciling his memories of Stiles as a high schooler with the young man who preferred the quiet found amongst the trees.Whenever he’d inquired, Stiles had just smiled that enigmatic smile, so like Deaton or Morrell, and said something about being unable to think around the bustle of town.





	three words have never come easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 days of Sterek

 

If someone had told Derek five years ago that Stiles Stilinski would be the one living in a secluded cabin in the woods, Derek never would have believed them. Even now, he had a hard time reconciling his memories of Stiles as a high schooler with the young man who preferred the quiet found amongst the trees.

Whenever he’d inquired, Stiles had just smiled that enigmatic smile, so like Deaton or Morrell, and said something about being unable to think around the bustle of town.

Derek thought he was full of shit, but he knew better than to prod at someone else’s trauma. If there was something in Beacon Hills keeping Stiles away, he’d either find a way to fix it himself or tell Derek when he needed to bring him in on the plan. For some reason, Derek was comfortable waiting for whenever Stiles was ready.

Or at least that’s what he’d thought. Before he went and fucked everything up.

\---

Stiles stirred awake, blinking against the light streaming in through the windows. Stretching languidly, he felt for his phone, frowning when it wasn’t charging on the nightstand like usual. Then the events of the night before came flooding back.

“Derek?”

His feet hit the floor and he grimaced at the mess they’d made the night before. Clothes were strewn across the floor, but he was fairly certain they were only his own. Tugging on a pair of sweatpants, he paused long enough to rest his forehead on the cool wood of the doorframe.

Stupid. How could he be this stupid? Of course it didn’t mean anything.

Sighing, Stiles ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. There was really nothing else he could do at this point. But he had to relax. Staying calm was the only way to keep the darkness away.

Once he was centered, Stiles took stock of his situation. Clothes in the hamper, bedding in the wash, then he’d need a shower. Take the day one step at a time and do everything possible to avoid his own mind dragging him back down.

He made it through the first step mechanically, straightening the room in an attempt to keep the chaos at bay. Gathering up the bedding was harder. But Stiles knew that sleeping in sheets that smelled of him and Derek and sex would leave him more vulnerable than was wise.

Deaton’s voice still echoed in his mind. _Next time I may not be able to get you back._

So Stiles had moved here. To a typical druid’s home, located deep in the expanse of a national forest and spelled to keep everything away. Everything but Derek, who came once a week with news from Beacon Hills.

It was safer this way. Easier to filter out the dark thoughts and focus on the sunrise. He knew his Dad worried, but someday he’d get to leave. Someday he’d find a solution to his curse.

Dropping the laundry, Stiles leaned back against the wall and counted his breaths. Fuck. What was he thinking?

But it didn’t matter. He had to stay calm. Breathe. Compartmentalize. Lock it down.

There were things he couldn’t think about and most of those thoughts ended up in a giant box labeled ‘Derek’ and buried deep in the recesses of his mind. But it was getting more difficult to stop the thoughts from slipping through the cracks, especially when he was confronted with the real thing every Thursday.

And he’d always been powerless against Derek’s smile.

Stiles waited until the darkness wasn’t threatening to overwhelm him, then gathered up the bedding and dragged himself the rest of the way to the washer tucked in the second bathroom. He added detergent and set the wash cycle on autopilot, then took new sheets from the linen closet. Because he was the kind of person who had a linen closet now. It was surreal.

There was a noise from downstairs, so faint it was barely audible over the washer.

Stiles dropped the clean sheets, immediately on edge. Then, soft footsteps padded across the living room and Stiles felt his heartrate triple. _What the fuck?_

“Derek?” he called again.

He hadn’t left? Stiles didn’t know what to make of that. Or what it meant. And fuck, he needed to focus.

Sliding down the wall beside the sheets, Stiles rested his head on his knees. No need to lose his grip on reality over the awkwardness of a one-night stand. And Deaton was right. He had to find answers soon, before his mind came completely unraveled.

\---

Of course. Of course this would be Derek’s luck.

He stared out at the pristine blanket of snow, deep enough that he knew without even trying that his car wasn’t going anywhere. And it wasn’t that he _wanted_ to drag himself from the warmth of Stiles’ bed, but he knew he couldn’t face the rejection that would come after.

Maybe he was pathetic, but Derek didn’t have the greatest track record with the people he fell for. And at this point, he was used to not getting what he wanted. So if all Stiles wanted was a quick fuck with the only person he could interact with on a regular basis, then Derek was willing to take what he could get.

Before he could formulate a plan better than running home through three feet of snow, Stiles woke up.

Derek listened as he went through the process of remembering, heart beat spiking. Was he regretting the night before?

He heard footsteps and a quiet sigh, then the sound of Stiles gathering up clothes and dumping them somewhere. The sheets were next, and this time Stiles made it halfway down the hall before dropping them on the floor.

Still not the most unusual thing Derek had seen Stiles do, but it was odd that he seemed to be trying to catch his breath. But before Derek could make up his mind to check on him, Stiles was gathering up whatever he’d dropped and starting the wash like nothing happened.

Derek sighed, wondering how this had become his life.

Upstairs, Stiles froze, dropping something else. Maybe he should go check on him. Gloss over the awkwardness with brute force.

“Derek?” Stiles called, and he sounded panicky.

Fuck it. Derek was bounding up the stairs before Stiles had even managed to slide all the way down the wall.

\---

“Hey,” suddenly Derek was there, right in his face. “Stiles. What’s happening.”

Stiles blinked at him, uncomprehending. Everything was under control. He was fine.

“You’re here,” he said, instead.

Derek pulled back, immediately apologetic. “Sorry, it must’ve snowed last night. There’s too much, I couldn’t get the car out.”

“Oh.”

They were snowed in. But why did Derek look so sorry? That wasn’t right. Stiles gripped his hair, trying to sort out his thoughts.

“—Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounded far away. And Stiles was tired. So tired of fighting this curse.

Maybe if he let go for a minute, he could rest. Just for a little bit.

But the voice didn’t want him to go. It was annoying, dragging him back. “Stiles!”

He shook his head fiercely, trying to shut out the voice and the rough hands gripping his upper arms. But it felt like he was anchored, unable to drift off.

An anchor.

That’s what he needed to stop the curse. Something to hold onto. He clutched onto the memories of Derek’s smile, his laugh, the face he made when he came.

And suddenly, he was back in the hallway outside of his second bathroom. Derek’s hands were gripping him hard enough to bruise, and for the first time in _years_ , Stiles felt like he could breathe.

“You did it,” he gasped, voice strangely breathy.

Derek just looked confused. “Did what?”

“Broke the curse. Just--,” Stiles sagged against the wall, “just needed an anchor.”

“Curse?”

And now Derek looked worried. Stiles hated when he looked worried. “The darkness. Couldn’t shake it.”

“From when you died?” Derek frowned, “I thought you said it was fine?”

“I was handling it.” Stiles flapped an arm at the cabin vaguely. And fuck, he felt drunk.

Seeming to make up his mind, Derek let go of his arms. “Is the guest room made up?”

When Stiles nodded, Derek held out a hand.

“I’m going to call Deaton and you can take a nap, okay?”

Mostly upright, Stiles held onto his arm like a lifeline. “Tuck me in?” he asked.

Derek softened. “If that’s what you want.”

“Can I ask for another thing I want?” Stiles was probably more of a hindrance at this point as Derek maneuvered them toward the spare bedroom.

“Sure,” he said, finally giving up and scooping Stiles into his arms.

“Will you--,” Stiles hesitated, “will you be here when I wake up?”

Something complicated passed over Derek’s face as he settled Stiles into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Good luck trying to get rid of me.”

 Stiles drifted off with a smile on his lips and the ghost of Derek’s lips on his forehead.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable post and edit coming soon!
> 
> EDIT: [Here it is!](http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com/post/181309956390/author-theproblemwithstardust-type-of-work)


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